


Bent

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-06-05
Updated: 2008-06-05
Packaged: 2018-09-03 06:00:58
Rating: Teen & Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8700178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: Sammy cried that night. He could still feel Dean’s hands all over him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** Can be read as stand-alone or as part of the Coming Undone series.
> 
> The warnings are conservative. Nothing overly graphic but I wanted to be sure.

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_Shouldn’t be so complicated_

_Just hold me and then_

_Just hold me again_

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Sammy cried that night. He could still feel Dean’s hands all over him, in places they’d never been before. He could still hear his own broken voice pleading for Dean not to stop. Never stop. He could still see the blackness that erupted in stars when Dean finally did that thing with his wrist and Sammy was feeling something he’d only ever experienced in dreams. 

 

But now all he could hear was the quiet breathing of his sleeping brother and father. The lights from street shone garishly through the hotel curtains and his tears stained his pillow. He made sure he was silent about it. Dean couldn’t ever know. Couldn’t ever know that he had caused this dull throbbing pain in Sammy’s heart that made him want to die. He couldn’t ever know because Sammy knew what it would do to him. Sammy’s protector. Sammy never needed guardian angels because Dean was always there, even when Dad wasn’t. Dean took care of him, saved him, gave him whatever he wanted.

 

And when Dean had kissed him, the way he always kissed him when he came in from a fight, Sammy had asked for more than he’d ever asked for before. And he felt sick. Not because Dean had given it back but because he knew it was wrong. It was wrong of him to ask that from Dean. Dean, who was only giving him a relieved kiss, Dean who was only trying to feel alive and close and loved. 

 

Sammy had clutched at Dean in a way he hadn’t known he was even able. His nails had scraped along Dean’s back and he arched into the kisses Dean was peppering over his mouth, like little praises each time. And Sammy had pressed his hips against Dean’s, and had dragged Dean’s hand where he wanted it. “Please,” he’d whispered, and Dean complied.

 

Because Dean always gave him what he wanted. It was true that Dean could be bossy and was always telling Sammy what to do, but when it came down to it, Dean lived for his younger brother and Sammy knew it. He’d abused the one person he had in his life. The one person who loved him and wanted him and needed him. 

 

And the sobs wouldn’t stop, and he shook and trembled, and bit his tongue to keep them silent. He stared across the space between the beds at lump that was his father. The lump that would probably tear him a new one if he ever found out what he’d done. He sniffled and tried to keep it quiet. 

 

It didn’t work.

 

“Yur eyes gonna be all red,” slurred Dean. “Why you cryin’?”

 

Sammy let out a pitiful moan that had Dean shifting and sliding over and rolling and pulling until he had Sammy’s face against his chest. And Dean was whispering promises and jokes and little stories about Mom, all the while letting his hand run up and down Sammy’s back.

 

“Sammy,” Dean whispered. He punctuated it by forcing Sammy’s head up and placing a simple open mouthed kiss against his lips. “Sammy, don’t cry. I’m sorry.”

 

Sammy, who was calming down, burst out again in sobs that almost became audible. Dean frantically pressed his hand against his brother’s mouth. Even in the darkness, Sammy could see Dean’s eyes were wide and watchful of Dad’s form in the next bed. After a moment, when he didn’t stir, Dean turned his gaze to his brother and studied him.

 

“Sammy,” he whispered. “Sammy, what’s wrong?”

 

“I’m sorry, Dean. Dean, I’m sorry.” Dean didn’t ask for an explanation. He just tightened his hold on Sammy’s quivering body and let the fourteen-year-old cry himself to sleep. And although Sammy cried the next night, when Dean had slipped his hands down the front of his pyjama bottoms, the sobs weren’t as broken. And after that, when Sammy tentatively pressed the heel of his hand against the bulge in Dean’s boxers and felt that Dean wanted it, he stopped crying long enough to smile. 

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_Can you help me I’m bent_

_I’m so scared that I’ll never_

_Get put back together_

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End file.
